


lover, say you'll never let me go

by lachryma



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Mutual Pining, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 05:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19370827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachryma/pseuds/lachryma
Summary: another self indulgent one shot featuring a reader who identifies as female.  this is set in red dead redemption, shortly before the ranch battle.





	lover, say you'll never let me go

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [everything's coming up roses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19344820) by [lachryma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachryma/pseuds/lachryma). 



> “Do you hear my longings when I’m silent?”
> 
> — Nizar Qabbani

It’s wrong. You know it is. But the way his hands search always for yours -- the way his lips form your name...How can something so wrong feel so _right_? 

Each time he leaves you he promises he’ll come back.  _When?_ You always ask, gripping his shirt in your hands.  _Not sure_ , he always answers, **_soon_**.  Sometimes his soon means just a few days. Sometimes it means weeks, months. You’re never certain. But each time he leaves you with that promise -- an unseen hand plunges into your chest and grips your heart so tightly you could cry.  It’s hard to breath until you see his horse carrying him towards you. The hand slips away and you gasp for air, always smiling at his arrival. 

_You always look so happy to see me_ , John says as he removes his hat. You notice he’s got a few new scrapes but you won’t mention it right now.  He wraps his arms around you and presses kisses to your neck. You know he doesn’t want to think about anything else right now, so you succumb to his will.  You turn in his arms, and his lips find yours. They are hungry, his starvation made apparent by the way he grinds against you. You give him what he desires, and he will sigh his thanks after.

 

When the time is spent, and you’re both exhausted -- you run your fingers through his hair as he leans against your chest, circling your nipple with his finger without much thought.

“John?”  Your voice is a whisper, you’re surprised he heard it. But he looks up at you through his lashes, and your pulse skips a beat.  “What do you do when you’re not here?”

You feel his bones tighten as he winds himself up. He props himself on his elbows and gives you a look. Half-curious, half-suspicious.

“I got business to deal with.” His answer is firm, too firm for you to be satisfied.  You frown, and he matches the expression. You don’t want this to turn into an argument, you know he’ll just run off if it does.

“Business must be dangerous for you to always come to me bruised or partways bleeding.” 

He’s hauling himself from the bed, tugging on his clothes. You know he doesn’t like prying, and that he’s already making his escape. You crawl from the sheets, grab at his arm as gentle as you can to make him stop dressing.  He looks at you and his brows, once furrowed, lessen their weight. 

“I’m sorry, John. I worry about you, that’s all.” 

“I know you do, angel -- I just -- well certain things should be kept well away from you.”   
  
“Like your wife.” His brows furrow again, and you don’t feel the slightest bit of remorse at the way he rolls his eyes. 

“Jesus, girl! Really? You really gonna start this now?”

“I’m not starting anything, John.”  

He shrugs off your arm and fastens his trousers, then slings on his belt and holsters. You always find the way the guns hang from his hips fascinating. A sight to send shivers down your spine.  You know your lover is a dangerous man, but damned if it isn’t a thrilling thing to know. 

“Listen, I got my life here with you and I got my life at home with my wife, my son. I have a family! I can’t always just be here -- I have responsibi--”   
  
“I know, baby.”  You rise from the bed, and his eyes steady on your form. The way your soft curls brush against your breasts as you approach, the way you press your hands to his chest.  At once, to him, you are an image from a magazine -- impossible to be real.  

“I know you have a life outside of here, I respect that. I just -- well, I’m scared sometimes that you won’t be back. That I’ll never see you walk through that door again.” 

“Now what would you think of somethin’ like that for?” 

You scoff and look him in his eyes, as firmly as he once looked at you,   “Look in the mirror, John Marston. Trouble always leaves its mark on you!”  For reasons beyond you, your words make him laugh. A sharp pinch to his stomach makes him stop. 

“Hey!” He rubs the area you had squeeze between your fingers. It turns pink. “Look, sweetheart. I can’t make you _many_ promises but -”

He takes your face in his hands, makes you look up at him. Your lips are pursed in a pout, an emotion of worry lingering in your eyes. 

“I can make you one promise, alright? I promise I’ll always come back here for you, yeah? Maybe not right away, but at some point I’ll always come back to you.”

His thumbs run across your cheeks and it’s only then you notice you’re crying. Gentle tears, treacherous things, cascade down your cheeks one right after the other.  You are silent, you do not sob. All you do is gaze at him through tear-stained eyes, and he watches you in equal silence -- wiping away each tear that falls. 

In this silence you convey to him your love, your longing.  Some foolish part of you hopes he can hear it, can understand it and maybe even say it right back.   _ I love you, I love you, I love you. _

You close your eyes and feel his lips press against your forehead. He’s pulling away from you and that terrible hand wrenches your heart, again. 

He says it’s getting late, that he should head home. You want to ask him to stay with you, but you are still so silent.   You open your eyes again and his shirt is pulled on and his hat sits atop his head.  He opens the door and steps one foot out. 

“I love you, John Marston.”

He stops. Slowly, he turns to look at you and his smile is wide and almost goofy.  “I know.”  The door closes and a pain tears through your chest, enough to make you gasp.  At once you understand and begin to wail. 

 

_ He’s never coming through that door again. _

**Author's Note:**

> I am considering doing a whole series of one shots for the characters of the Van Der Linde gang. Let me know if you'd be interested in that!


End file.
